Three Instances
by ano-nimmus
Summary: Quoth Orik: 'In times of misfortune it [higher floors of Tronjheim] can house our entire nation. There have only been three instances...' But what were those three instances? A look at the history of Tronjheim. COMPLETE AT LAST 10.24.07! CHAP 4 IS BEST!
1. Prologue: A Wise Decision

**Heya! For some reason this is my first Inheritance fanfic, even though I am a HUGE major fan. Meh.**

**Disclaimer: Recognizable characters are the property of ChristopherPaolini.**

**Claimer: Unrecognizable characters and plot are mine.**

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Korgan hammered at the rock for a moment before pressing his ear to the stone. No doubt about it: hollow. With a grunt, he picked up his heavy iron hammer and struck the stone. Without waiting for the hollow ringing he knew would come, he struck again and again.

And again.

And again.

Little chips of grey-black stone fell to his feet each time he struck, creating a miniature mountain of stone chips. Every few hits he merely tapped the rock to see how much closer he was to the hollow place. Close... Very close now... Very close indeed...

He tapped again, and the ring seemed thinner now, more insubstantial. He lifted up the hammer and brought it against the stone with all his might, breaking through the thin shell that served as a barrier with one great _smack!_

There was an opening now, just large enough for him to fit through. He cautiously fit his head through the opening, half-expecting to see the still-occupied lair of a vicious Shrrg.

But there wasn't. What he saw made him gasp; this was a sight any dwarf would die to have discovered. He saw before him a great, gargantuan cavern, larger, wider than any he had ever seen. _He was in the center of the mountain._

His workmates were with him in an instant, at first only coming to see where he had gone, but soon rubbing their eyes and falling to their knees, staring with reverence at the rocky crags.

It wasn't rare for dwarves to have cities inside mountains; no, what was shocking was that this was _entirely natural._ It had taken years – almost three hundred of them – to hollow out the mountains and then build the cities inside them. The other work teams were quickly alerted, then the other citizens. Then the grimstboriths and the priests.

Everyone.

In no time at all a new city was being built, with Korgan named founder, work crew director, and future king of the city. So far there were thirty-six floors and yet he called for more. 

"Ridiculous!" his newly-picked advisers protested. "There are quite enough already! We have all the room we need!"

But by now, Korgan was powerful enough to shrug them off. He waved his new hammer, Volund, in the air. The light glimmered off of his helm, marked with a hammer and stars. "No," he promised, "those floors will help us some day, mark my words."

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**So... Um. That's the prologue. I know, sort of short, isn't it? But I was never ery good at long chapters. I'll try to make the actual chapters longer.**

**Please review! I thrive on reviews! If you don't review I'll die and nobody will finish this story!**


	2. Chapter 1: Fighting Mad

Two millennia had passed since then. Now King Shrrgknurl—King Wolfstone—the tenth king of the dwarves, sat on the throne. A hundred and sixty years he had ruled so far, and the dwarves had prospered. One day a guard ran into the throne room unannounced and uncalled for. The king would have called for the guards that very instant had he not spotted that the dwarf's face was white. He trembled slightly, and King Shrrgknurl suddenly felt uneasy. "Your Majesty," he said, kneeling.

"Yes?" asked the king.

"I am Horganr, one of the knurla of Durgrimst Ingeitum, a scout for the captain of the guards. I have seen a great horde of Nagran; it comes this way, from the north, not running, but coming fairly quickly. There is another scout on the south end of Farthen Dur, and he has seen another horde, but of Urzhadn. He sprained his ankle on a rock attempting to come here quickly, so I was sent with both messages." Now he seemed out of breath from his tirade, but he went on, a note of panic in his voice. "They approach from both sides; the spellcasters are not strong enough to hold them all off. There will be a rampage, or at the very least a great fight between the beasts when they meet. Of course, the gates are closed, but they will smell each other and attack the gates in an attempt to fight each other. Many will be killed if nothing is done!"

Several of the king's advisers, who had evidently been eavesdropping, entered through the thick stone doors. "My lord," said one of them solemnly, "there is no other choice we can think of. We must abandon Tronjheim and evacuate to the undisturbed tunnels."

"And suppose they are not undisturbed much longer?" asked the king scornfully. At the advisers' looks of confusion, he amended, "Suppose the beasts exit by those tunnels? It is likely."

The advisers went pale and started muttering among themselves until there came a loud, joyful, and slightly scornful laugh. "Ha!" he cried. "Knurlhiemn! What did Korgan, founder of Tronjheim say? 'Those floors will help us someday...'"

One of his advisers scrunched up his face. "But my lord, to get the people up high enough that the beasts will not be interested..."

Shrrgknurl gave a howl of disgust. "Fools! Werg! Enough, I say! You are blinded to words of wisdom by your incessant jabbering! To work! There remain but few minutes until the Nagran and Urzhadn arrive! We must warn the people! To work, I say!"

Criers were sent around Tronjheim with the message: "Great hordes of fierce Nagran and mighty Urzhadn approach! The king commands that all collect in the higher levels of Tronjheim!

Men, women (most without beards, but some had taken the time to grow them), and children raced for Vol Turin or the pulley system. Some feared that the newly invented system, comprised of numerous pulleys and levers, would break and so preferred the stairs. They raced up the stairs, which was, for the first time, since its building, once more filled with people.

Minutes later the thousands of dwarves were on the twelfth floor and still running as if the very animals they sought to escape were on their heels. Shrrgknurl, who was at the front of the crowd, finally halted the procession with the call, "We are safe for now!"

Relieved dwarves settled down as he added, "All we can do now is wait."

And they did. Slowly the sound of a gate being struck by thick, heavy bodies permeated the silent air. There was more silence as the apprehensive crowd listened hard. There was a crash as the gates fell on one side, and a few moments later another crash as thick chunks of stone and metal fell to the ground, no doubt to be replaced by large bodies that could crush two or three dwarves easily with one blow.

Then there were squeals of fear from the children as sounds of anger floated up: growls and fiercer squeals grew louder in volume as there were more sounds of crashing. A scream of pain rent the air and several fearful-looking dwarf mothers covered the ears of their children.

Minutes passed, now frequently punctuated by roars, bestial screams that drew terror out of the citizens which blanketed the silence.

There was a yowl, another crash... A monster din slashed the air, causing most people to start and drop thins if they were holding any.

And then as quickly as it had begun, it was over.

The people warily crept down, but there was no need for silence now; the animals were indeed gone.

King Shrrgknurl, His Majesty, tenth king of the dwarves, gazed at his advisers triumphantly. "You see?" he told them. "Korgan was right!"


	3. Chapter 2: Betrayal!

**Okay, latest chapter. Well, I am sincerely sorry to everybody who thinks I don't write long enough chapters, but sometimes I just can't help it. I have NEVER been good at long chapters. Sorry! I am trying... hard... to... write... longer... grunt...**

**Disclaimer: Now then, I wonder what I would publish on a site called FanFiction...**

**Claimer: Anything unrecognizable (e.g. the plot, characters, etc.) is mine.**

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Three millennia after the reign of Korgan, one millennium after the first incident, the ruler was King Gorranra (A/N – Yes, I know it sounds feminine, but...please bear with me)—whose name meant 'one of the ground'—the fourteenth king of the dwarves.

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A strange dwarf lived near the outskirts of the city. His name was Kurik, and he was a sort of scientist who experimented with plants, crossbreeding them and mixing them together in potions to create odd concoctions which you could never be sure of. He never associated himself with anyone unless he went out to buy food and plants, and even that was only rarely. 

He did not change his clothes to anyone's knowledge, always wearing the same oversized brown tunic with green leggings which made him look more like a ballerina than a scientist.

It was common for a dwarf child to tug on their mother's dress and ask her, pointing at Kurik, ask, "Why does that man look so odd?" to which the reply would be, "Hush. We do not know," to which both the child and the mother would receive a glare from Kurik.

It was later discovered why, as you will find out, he betrayed the dwarves in such a harsh way as he did -- in an attempt to strike them all down in a single blow.

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The smaller children were playing a game called Hollow Stone, where you tried to guess which stone was completely hollow without touching it. The larger children ran relay races. 

As they played, one dwarf child playing Hollow Stone noticed Kurik with his hair greased back and murmuring softly to himself. He looked odder than ever, and the child wondered if Kurik hadn't, as his mother said,'gone crazy as a beaten beast at last'. The walked slowly toward Tronjheim's exit, his tunic flapping about his knees. He carried a bag two-thirds his size, and a child running races faltered as he wondered what was in it. After a moment, both child looked back to the game and forgot all about it.

Later they wished they hadn't.

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The gas seemed to come from the ground. It swirled lazily, its green-yellow fumes choking the ground and withering the few plants that grew there. Andelr the mushroom farmer was the first to see it. When he did, he ran as if an angry Guntera was on his heels. 

He gathered the farmers quickly and they lost no time in fleeing from the gas. Only one took the time to run to the king. He had no family to lose and so he had no worries of that. The guards opened the doors after a single glance at the farmer's face. The dwarf, minding traditional protocol despite his fears, began to walk slowly and respectfully toward the king. But when a distant scream broke through the thick walls, the farmer bolted for the throne and threw himself on the ground. There was a wail, and as Gorranra's face suddenly became concerned, the story poured out of the farmer's mouth as if an avalanche had been activated. The king asked only one question: "How closely did it cling to the ground?" The farmer replied that it appeared to be moving higher, and he moved on.

"GUARDS!" bellowed Gorranra when he was finished. A flushed guard hurried in, helm askew, and bowed before straightening once more. Several others followed him."Majesty?" he muttered.

"I believe a betrayal is at hand. Gather the people and order them to go as quickly as possible up the Vol Turin, to the highest floor. Those are too weak or too young are to be carried by the Royal Guards. We must waste no time. Already our citizens teeter on the brink of death."

"But, Majesty," said the guard. He was cut short by a icy look. The king said, in terrible, commanding tones, "Now."

The guard bowed, fear etched strongly onto his face. "Yes, Majesty. Of course."

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The gas was now next to the gates and swirling higher. Some few had stopped to look at it curiously. Then the gate crumbled under the force of the gas, and they fled, screaming in terror. Messengers ran through the streets as quickly as their short legs could take them.

Fifteen minutes after the gate crumbled, every one of the city's inhabitants was either on or heading to the Endless Staircase.

Twenty minutes after the gate crumbled, they were all on the Endless Staircase.

Which was good. The king's entire plan relied on the gas not reaching to the highest floor. But he had seen the gates crumbling, and now he was afraid that Vol Turin would also crumble. But he had to hope. Soon all were assembled on one of the higher floors. Others clearly had the same fears as the king, as they were shivering and practicing holding their breath. They all waited. Finally, one of the dwarves near a window looked out and called. "The gas is here! And Kurik is standing next to it!"

Some people rushed to the windows and looked out. Kurik was standing there. He was saying something that only one of the dwarves, a lip-reader, could understand. That dwarf translated for the rest of them.

Kurik was saying: 'You see? You should not have laughed at me. This gas has only one weakness: if a king throws himself into it. But of course, our weak coward of a king would never sacrifice himself!'

Several turned to look at the king, to show him they would die with him. But he had already launched himself out of the window. Several screamed after him, "It's a trick!"

But screams could not stop him from falling. And Kurik's astonished face gave stregth to King gorranra, enough to pull out his hammer and bash in Kurik's head. Whether it was the king's sacrifice or the death of Kurik, the fumes, which had reached the seventy-eighth floor by that time, slowly retreated to the ground.

Several people were weeping, and some of the elder dwarves were shaking their heads as if they couldn't have imagined that the king would have actually done that.

And his heir looked up at the mountain roof, seeing a little light gleaming through. He closed his eyes, then said, "We will rebuild as quickly as possible." His first command as king.

Several nodded in approval. And they began the long walk down.

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**Please review! I don't like it if people read it without reviewing! PLEASE! Ya gotta have SOME opinion!**

**--TOF**


	4. Chapter 3: First Battle With the Urgals

**Hey guys. You probably don't even remember this story, I haven't updated in so long. But I hope you enjoy this. There's an interesting (I hope) plotline spun into this chapter.  
Read, enjoy, and (of course) review, please.  
ano-nimmus**

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_The third instance dawned on Farthen Dur at a time of strife. As you will see, when you read this concluding chapter of the Three Instances, it was dissimilar to the other two in several ways. Of course, a colossal difference was the fact that no king rested his royal hindquarters on the throne. Another is that not all the dwarves traveled up Vol Turin._

_...But read on, dear fellow, and see what you think._

A young dwarf cowered in an iron cage, captured by the Urgals laying siege to Tronjheim, just as they would so many centuries later. He didn't mind so much the cramped conditions, the uncomfortable floor, or the breath of his guard. Or rather, he wouldn't't have minded them if he didn't have to wee. Really badly. Suddenly, he heard the clash of swords against swords, crashing metal creating a din that-

But this story is already getting ahead of itself. Doubtlessly you'll want to know about how the dwarf was captured, and such, which is most likely how this chapter should have begun, anyhow.

There is no king at the beginning of this story, although I can promise you there will be one at the end of it. The most recent king had died after five hundred years in which he had served his people through ruling them. He had not related his wishes as to an heir, and as has been mentioned, this left the city in a considerably-sized hole of despair. Clan fought clan, each supporting their representative, none giving room for another and yet none ever fit...

Before there was time (around ten years was probably needed) to decide, a dwarf--not quite a man and not quite a child--gave the city news that did not help the mood in the slightest. In fact, this young dwarf was the same aforementioned one in the iron cage.

Unlike the messengers of the first two instances, he had no king to alert, who would send out callers throughout the city in order to inform the rest of the population. Instead, he climbed a statue of Helzvog situated in the center of the marketplace, praying for forgiveness of the god all the way.

Upon reaching the top, he attracted attention to himself by giving a long, wordless yell, a signal of distress that did its job moderately well. Very little of the market chatter abated, and gossips began to whisper to each other heatedly about the young dwarf who had dared climb the sacred statue. (Actually, it wasn't a sacred statue. But it was a statue of a god, and it set the mood of the place and of the action.) But a sea of shoppers turned to look at him, and that was all he needed. Thinking to start off on a crowd-soothing note, he called down, "You can sentence me for climbing the statue later!" and many heads nodded. He gulped but continued:

"But you need to be told," he said, "I went-"

_"Get to the point!"_ screamed an old hag in the back of the crowd.

"The Urgals are coming," he said. He said it far more quietly than he ought in light of the fact that he was standing three hundred feet above everybody else. Because an announcement like that is traditionally said in hushed tones, _he _thought. But noticing that all and every being in the market were looking at him with expressions of bewilderment, he repeated it again, an this time the words rang through the square like a high bell: (high because he was nervous, and tended to get high-voiced hen he was nervous) "THE URGALS," he bellowed (as much as a high voice _can_ bellow), "ARE COMING THROUGH THE MAIN TUNNEL!"

Complete pandemonium followed this statement. Stalls were overturned, baskets of food dropped to the ground, and a stampede of trampling feet left the market with the noise of an elephant. The dwarf on top of the statue held his breath, hoping he hadn't scared them all off.

No, he saw to his relief that people were reentering the place, this time with their families in tow, evidently without having given any explanation. Most of the husbands seemed to have been dragged from their morning cleaning. One even had a pair of scissors hanging from his beard like a lonesome fruit.

He knew that this was the point when he should prove his courage by speaking out in front of all these people, but faced with two or three thousand annoyed, scared, and plain confused people

No, he saw to his relief that people were reentering the place, this time with their families in tow, evidently without having given any explanation. Most of the husbands appeared to have been dragged from their morning cleaning. One even had a pair of scissors hanging like a lonesome fruit from his beard.

He knew that this was the point when he should prove his courage by speaking in front of all these people, but faced with two or three thousand scared, confused, and plain annoyed dwarves, his courage failed him. Well, it's obvious what you _ought _to do, he told himself. All you have to do is _do it._

So he spoke, his voice more high-pitched than ever before: "Um, I suppose most of you, erm, don't really--that is, you aren't quite sure just what you're, uh, doing here."

"I'll say," snorted one of the men loudly.

"You bet your buttocks," growled another.

The dwarf pressed on. "Um, I was exploring one of the tunnels..." As he spoke, he looked around, and was suddenly overwhelmed by the number of faces looking up at him. He wanted, suddenly, to get it over with. "There are Urgals," he said. "In the tunnels. I saw them."

There was a stretch of silence like a snake, winding itself around and around the audience. Most looked reluctant to believe him. The dwarf turned pleading eyes on them. "You have to believe me," he said.

At last, a tiny voice piped up: "What should we do?" It was a small, small dwarf, not even grown a beard yet. And all of a sudden, as if that voice had triggered something, thousands of pairs of trusting eyes were looking up at him, needing him to lead them, to tell them what to do.

Our hero blinked in surprise. _He _was being asked to tell _all these people _what to do? He took a deep breath and accepted the authority they were relaying him through their eyes. After all, he supposed he had set himself up for it.

With a slight sigh that nobody could hear, he began to give orders. To all those people.

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Twenty minutes later, when the Urgals began to move from their rest stop to the great dwarf city, all men fit for battle lined the walls like a great twisting crawling mass of ants, guarding the wall of Tronjheim. All women and children were crowded at the top of Vol Turin.

And the Urgals came. Came to lay siege on the city.

Came in the thousands. Our hero, the dwarf who at this point leads the army, was nervous. His nervousness did not in any sense abate. He was horrible, completely, breathtakingly nervous. Nervous at a time when he couldn't afford it. Nervous at a time when he had to lead rather than be led. Nervous, essentially, when he shouldn't have been.

The battle began.

In the thick of it, the dwarf watched as the dwarves he commanded hurled stones, poured boiling oil, shot arrows at the weak points in the protection of the Urgals. The Urgals were being pushed back! The dwarf was elated, but he knew it would not last forever. Even now the Urgals had begun to fire back; dwarf after brave dwarf fell, and fewer of the Urgals were slipping to the ground, clutched by death.

And then there was suddenly an arrow slicing towards him through the air. He did not see it until it was too close. Too close to dodge.

But he didn't have to, because an instant later, a _fraction _of a moment later, he was on the ground, and there was another body on top of him, pushing him down, weighing on his body, but more so on his soul. Because the dwarf, the one who had first trusted him in the crowd, had taken the arrow for him. Blood flowed like a great red river from his chest. He was staring at the blood, his eyes unfocused, seemingly unaware of what had happened. "King," he murmured, a moment later.

"What did you say?" Our hero was confused.

"King," the dying dwarf repeated. "You shall be our king."

Our hero began to protest, but the dwarf's voice, hoarse now as it died, rather than the piping voice of the square, slashed across the beginning of the sentence. "I See," he said. "You shall be our king."

And he took a faint breath, a last breath, drawn in as though through a rag, it sounded so gagged.

He was gone. Taken in by the gods.

"Helzvog help you, brother," whispered the dwarf, touching the corpse's forehead with his pointing finger. "Go in peace."

Then he stood. Orders snapped through his vocal cords; he was only half-aware that he had spoken them. "I need a squadron to volunteer to go out with me. We shall go face-to-face with those devils."

A few minutes later, two troops he had set up along the wall were composed into a group of sixty or so dwarves. They would go out and fight to the death.

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Well, that was how he had ended up in the cage. Stupid, stupid, stupid. 

Our hero sighed. And _that _was when he heard the clash of swords against swords,crashing metal creating a din that struck a breath of hope into him. Moments ago he had been mourning his capture and wondering about the fates of the troops who had come with him out onto the battlefield. Now he stood, his body singing with a double-bladed sword of hope. One that go at his enemies or come crashing back at him.

It went to his enemies.

Blood seemed to gush from the rocks; Urgal blood, an odd shade indistinguishable from the rocks around it. Not red, but no recognizable color.

But the fact was, the battle was won. Our hero was saved, and he was crowned king.

At the ceremony, the dwarf who handed him his crown called out to the people (and the people cheered as he said it, so that the words could barely be heard): "And so let Hrothgar be crowned king of the dwarves in Farthen Dur!"

_That was the last of the famous three instances for which the endless staircase was used._

_And who knows; maybe there will be another during the reign of good King Orik. _

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**There you go; the end. Hope you enjoyed it. Please criticize me; I want to know if there's any way I can improve the story. If you don't review, I'll have to consider it perfect without another opinion, and think what a disaster that would be for the world!**

**LEAVE A REVIEW.**

**ano-nimmus **


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